


Chapter 1

by Iamaconnon



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Get Together, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21963898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamaconnon/pseuds/Iamaconnon
Summary: It was a story. A book. Richie had read many a William Denbrough book, enjoyed a portion of them as well. This one however, this one. He stared at the offending novel sitting innocently on the kitchenette counter in his latest hotel room and tried to relax his spine.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Kudos: 31





	Chapter 1

“Took you like a shot, though that I could case you with a cold evening, let a couple years water down how I’m feeling about you” 

It was a story. A book. Richie had read many a William Denbrough book, enjoyed a portion of them as well. This one however, this one. He stared at the offending novel sitting innocently on the kitchenette counter in his latest hotel room and tried to relax his spine. The cover was a dark view of a sewer drain with a pair of ominous glowing eyes staring from inside the void of black. Bill’s name was in bold letters across the front, little more ostinatious then his usual style but Richie supposed he had earned the recognition by now. ‘It’ was the title, simple, kind of lacking in elegance. Richie had picked it up in a bookstore in Denver international and starting reading it on the flight to JFK.  
He ran a hand through unwashed hair and started out of the big pane windows. Jesus fucking god in heaven, it was about them. All of them, the names were changed, of course but everything else…. Bill literally wrote a book about their childhood, just peppered in a fucking killer clown for flavor. The audacity. He even killed off his baby brother viciously and quite soon in the book. Their was such crystalline detail in the book that Richie was having flashbacks to quarries and rock fights and bullies. It could have been a memoir for its accuracy except for some minor details probably added for storytelling purposes. Bev’s mother being dead for instance and her father being a fucking creep. Well, he was kind of creepy. However, to a fourteen year old boy, any girl’s dad was a little creepy.  
The bullies were also way worse in the book then they had been in real life. Henry Bowers may have been a champion douchebag and a psycho but he never took a knife to Ben Hanscom’s belly, thank whatever god happen to watch out for idiot children. Richie took off his glasses and rubbed his hand over his face, none of this bothered him really. No, none of that. He had just passed the 22 chapter and this was about them as adults. Older than they are now but Richie tore through the pages utterly fascinated with how Bill would portray them as adults.  
First and formost he fucking killed off Stan! Who the fuck would do that? What kind of plot hole having, writer's block, shock value shit was that? Wasn’t againstJewish doctrine to commit suiside? He slits his wrist in the bathtub! Was it easier for Bill to just kill him off rather than develop his adult personality?  
Then there was the absolute worst thing that has ever happened to Richie in his entire 32 years on this planet. It made his veins turn to ice water instantly and dread curl though his spine like a snake. His jaw tensed instantly but his traderious eyes refused to stop consuming the words on the page. Bill had made his character gay. Fuck. FUCK. Fucking shit fuck fuck. The killer clown bitch actually taunts him about it. Taunts him about being in the closet. Which he was; but god fucking damn it no one was supposed to know. Memories of taunts from high school swirled around his mind. Richie tozier sucks flamer cock scrawled on a bathroom wall. Did every fucking person on the planet know? Well, they fucking did now. At least everyone who could recognize him from the book.  
He threw the book on the counter in disgust and stared at for at least the last half hour. That selfish son of a bitch. That absolute monster of a supposed friend. Well, old friend? Childhood friend? It's not like any of the losers kept in contact after high school. Maybe some phone calls through college and one interesting letter he got from Ben after he got into his master's program. Maybe none of the losers had even read the damned thing. Stan, Mike and Ben had been the only members of their little club to actually enjoy reading novels and Stan was more of a nonfiction guy. He couldn’t imagine the neat little curly haired boy growing into an adult who read horror novels for fun. If any of them actually read the damn thing it was probably Bev, she had it bad for Bill for a long time. He felt heat flush his cheeks, second hand embarrassment for Bev. Bill had made her crush on him evident. As evident as Ben’s crush on Bev had been. Shit. What a selfish prick. Selling out his childhood best firends just to sell some fucking books.  
His cell chimed once and he jumped at the noise. He hadn’t been on the damn thing all day, too engrossed in his childhood trauma coming back to haunt him in the form of a horror novel. He collected the thing from the bedside table and the screen flashed a message from his manager.  
CALL ME.  
“Shit.” He said, and checked the time. Nearly midnight. “Shit.” He said again and typed out a response.  
Only if you let me use my sexy voice.  
He typed out slowly but his heart wasn’t in the joke. The three ellipses indicating that she was typing flashed, stopped, and then flashed again.  
NOW.  
FInally appeared on his screen and he sighed. He hit the dial button and put the phone to his ear. Jen picked up on the first ring.  
“Hello you absolute troll.” Her voice was sharp and way to intense for the hour.  
“Jen, light of my life, love eternal. What can I do for you? Or can you not sleep without my haunting rendition of the itsy bitsy spider sung all slutry like before bed?”  
“Can it Tozier.”  
“Why must you hurt me like this? Your kids loved it when I sang it to them.” He asked, letting a whine leak into his voice. “I even wrote an extra verse about the spider finding his true love.”  
“I know, you bastard, we couldn’t get Markie to stop saying ‘elbow-y coitus” for weeks. Spiders don’t even have elbows.”  
Richie tired, he honestly did but the thought of a four year old quoting his masterpiece of a lullaby was too much and he let out a laugh.  
“It's not my fault your son has good taste in poetry.”  
“I actually called to tell you something important.” She huffed.  
“Hit me then.”  
“Your show in Queens is being rescheduled. Apparently the venue’s roof collapsed under the snow.” She spoke nonchalantly, like buildings often just fell in under winter weather.  
“Jesus was anyone hurt?”  
“Fuck, I don’t know Richie, I think it was empty, but the point is the stage is now a mess of beams and dry wall and they have to refund a full house.”  
“Are we going to find a new venue?”  
“Its a fucking week before Christmas Rich, I’m looking but honestly I have nothing prosmising so far.”  
“It's the tail end of my tour-”  
“You don’t have to tell me that man, I have planned every inch of this bitch.”  
“So what's the plan then?”  
“Well, all flights are grounded so for the moment you are stuck in New York, we don’t have to be in Montreal until after Christmas. Want me to wait and get you a flight home after the storm clears?” She asked.  
The days before christmas spent in a hotel bar alone with nothing but the rest of Bill’s god forsaken book to keep him company? Hard fucking pass.  
“Naw, I think I might go home to see the folks for Christmas, its been a while.” Jen laughed into the phone.  
“Really? To Derry? That's not a while Rich, that's like 20 years.”  
“My Mom is always begging me to come home for the holidays but why bother when I can just fly them out to LA?”  
“Well, if you want to spend your christmas is backwater middle of nowhere Maine that's your choice.”  
Richie smiled despite himself. It wasn’t such a terrible place really.  
“Book me a car for the morning? Something with all wheel drive please?”  
“You got it man. And stop teaching my kids words like coitus.”  
“No promises, love you bye!” He promptly hung up before he could hear her reply and threw his cell on to the bed. The phone started ringing the moment it landed and Richie jumped again. Fuck.  
“I wasn’t finished you ass.” Jen said as he answered.  
“SO you really do want a lullaby-”  
“Shut the hell up. I got an email from a woman claiming to be a friend of yours.”  
“Probably a scorned lover, poor thing can’t get over me.” Jen laughed in his ear, loudly.  
“Ha, right, lover, sure. It’s actually a name I recognized but I doubt you would.”  
“What she want?”  
“Said she was a childhood friend of yours and wanted me to pass on her info. Name is Beverly ...Marsh, she's a famous designer, maybe she wants to make you over for charity.” Jen laughed at her own joke but Richie felt his heart sped up.  
“Do I tell her to shove her information or-”  
“Did she leave her number or her email?” He asked, throat constricted.  
“Both actually.”  
“Text them to me. Night Jen.” He hung up the phone and promptly threw it on the bed again.  
Beverly Marsh. What a wild night down memory lane and then Bev reaches out for the first time in ten years. Fuck. Richie throws himself onto the bed and crawls up until his head finds a pillow. His phone chimed.  
He opened the text and stared at the number on the screen. Before he can entirely chicken out he opens a new message with the number and simply types,  
Hey Bev, Its Richie.  
He had no clue whatsoever what time zone she was even in. She was probably sleeping. He should have just texted in the morning. What if she had also read the book and was only getting a hold of him to confirm his fucking sexuality? Wait, why would she do that? When did she even email Jen? He should have fucking asked that.  
Richie stood up and pulled off his button up shirt, maybe a shower would clear his head. A man can dream.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------

He died. He fucking died. Bill killed him off. Eddie stared at the pages of the hardback novel with his jaw somewhere close to his chest. Holy fuck, Bill actually killed him in that germ infested cespool. This damn book was ruining his life. Holy fuck.  
“Eddie- bear!” Myra’s voice rang down the hall. Eddie took a deep breath before he dared answer, stuck a bookmark between the pages and yelled back,  
“Yes dear?”  
“Where are the grey towels? The ones I got from Homegoods last week?” She called. How the hell should he know? Probably somewhere with the huge mass of candle sticks, place mats, and other such nonsense she kept purchasing for who the hell knew.  
“Check the hall closest?” He yelled, feeling kinda stupid for shouting at someone well with in walking distance.  
“Will you do it?” She asked, her voice taking on a high pitched whine. “I’m trying to finish packing.”  
Eddie sighed again and tossed the book to his bedside table.  
“Yes dear.” He said, knowing very well that she couldn’t hear him.  
The towels were easily folded and still tagged on the first shelf in the closet and Eddie felt himself sigh again.  
“What do we need towels for? The hotel will have plenty.” He asked as he entered the guest room that looked more like a small and specific tornado had spread all of their belongings across the bed, chairs, and floor. Myra sat on the corner of the bed with a handful of clothes and a scowl on her face.  
“Eddie.” She said his name with such condensation that Eddie felt quite sure he would rather be stabbed by a nightmare clown in a storm drain then listen to why they needed to bring towels on a vacation that would have plenty of towels.  
“We don’t have any idea what those towels have been through. Their could be bacteria, what if you got -” She paused, chewing her lip for the correct word and Eddie fought back yet another sigh. “An infection? Wouldn’t you feel better to have our own set, ones where we know where they came from and-” Eddies phone began to ring and Myra’s scowl deepened.  
“It could be work.” He reasoned.  
“Fine. Take it.” She snapped and returned almost violently to sorting different color variations of the same track suit. Eddie stepped into the hall and pulled the phone from his pocket. Unknown number, Maine area code.  
“Hello, Eddie Kaspbrak speaking.” He said.  
“Ah yes, Mr. Kaspbrak, My name is John Howe I work for Mercy House Hospital here in Derry have some rather unfortunate news.” Eddie’s lungs drew in and then refused to release.  
“Yes?” He managed to squeak.  
“It's about your mother. She suffered a serious heart attack and is here in the hospital. I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, but again, this is very serious.”  
His hands began to sweat against the phone and air still refused to circulate through his chest that was beginning to ache with the effort.  
“A heart attack?” He repeated stupidly.  
“Yes Mr. Kaspbrak. Apparently it happened at home and a neighbor found her. She’s lucky it happened so quickly.”  
“Is...is she stable?” He asked, his voice small and far away. For a wild moment he was no longer an adult, but a wheezy child standing before his mother’s arm chair as she watched Night Court and ate a tv dinner.  
“Mama.” He said allowed.  
“Excuse me?” The man said over the phone and Eddie shook the memory away.  
“Thank you Mr. Howe.” He said formal and stiff as a pair of oxford shoes. “I will make arrangements as soon as possible. Please keep me informed if her condition changes.” He hung up the phone before the man could responded and stared blankly down the hall.  
He had spoken to Sonia Kasbrak nearly a week prior when he called to inform her that instead of having Christmas dinner with her, Eddie and Myra were going on vacation instead. She cried and wailed over the phone and hung up and called and then hung up once more. The only thing that stopped Eddie from caving in and just returning to Derry was the fact that Myra had thrown a similar fit over the thought of them not going on vacation and her tears and hiccups where harder to ignore in the same house.  
Now she might actually die. She could actually die. His heart crushed painfully in his chest but at least his lungs had returned to expanding.  
“Myra.” He said to no answer. “Myra,” He said louder. Still no answer. He stood for a long minute without trying again and his phone chimed with a text message. His arms brought it to his face without his mind having anything to do with it. An unknown number. He opened it automatically.  
Hello Eddie, this is Bev. Beverly Marsh. Your assistant gave me your cell number. I hope that's ok.  
He stared in disbelief for a good long while, the phone screen timed into darkness and he caught the reflection of his face in it. His mother was going to die and Beverly Marsh was speaking to him for the first time in what, ten years? He opened his messages again and typed a quick reply.  
Hello Bev, it's good to hear from you.  
It was almost true too. He had strong memories of red hair and the smell of pall mall cigarettes over minty toothpaste. Maybe it was the nostalgia induced by Bill’s nightmare of a book but suddenly his childhood friends and the years they spent together was so sharply present in his mind that a little chill climbed up his spine. It wasn’t a terrible feeling, infact, it was almost happy.  
Hi Eddie! How are you?  
The reply came fast a sweet. How was he? His mother was dying in a hospital and his wife was packing half their house for a five day vacation.  
I’m doing well, How are you?  
He responded. The lie came much easier than he thought it would.  
“Eddie!” Myra called, much louder than necessary considering he was standing right outside the guest room door. “Eddie!” She called again. He didn’t answer, just started into the screen of his phone and waited for Beverly to respond.  
“Eddie, please answer me.” She appeared in the doorway, her mouth a hard line of displeasure. Eddie looked up at her just as his phone dinged.  
“Eddie who was on the phone?” She asked, the whine back in her voice. Eddie stared at her for a long time without his mouth forming words. Myra had recently had her hair dyed, a bright and shiny blonde. Much like Evie McWell, even though she had nothing but negative things to say about his new assistant at work. The ‘skinny blonde bitch’ was clearly of loose morals and just got hired to try and seduce Eddie and get him fired. This was despite the fact that she had been with the company for less than three weeks and had been nothing but professional and efficient at her job. The pale, almost white color did complement Myra’s complexion, however the bright red lipstick she had taken to wearing daily did not. It was also sticky and chemically smelling and had already stained two of his favorite work shirts.  
“Who was on the phone Eddie?” She repeated looking at him like he had lost his mind. He opened his mouth but words would still not manifest in his mouth.  
“I- eer.” It was a stupid and nonsensical noise that finally escaped.  
“Eddie! Are you alright?” She was at his side in a second. One gentle hand on the back of his neck and one on his arm as if to steady him. The tell tale signs of her encroaching panic where enough to make his heart speed up.  
“I need you to call the hotel and cancel our reservations.” He said finally, probably just to stave off the neurosis she always displayed when he was the least bit unresponsive or sick seeming.  
“What? Eddie I don’t- why would-”  
“Myra, please, just call the hotel.” His voice was surprisingly calm. Myra’s was very much not.  
“Eddie!” Her voice was almost hysterical and she squeezed unpleasantly on the back of his neck. “Please just tell me what's happening?” Her lower lip quivered and tears welled in her overbright eyes.  
“My mother had an accident. We have to go to Derry.” He said simply. His lungs were considering again, he wanted desperately to reach for his inhaler but doing so in front of Myra would increase her panic threefold.  
“What? What happened!” Myra let go of him all at once, her fear and panic changing to anger. “Did she do this on purpose-” She gasped a little and covered her mouth but Eddie flinched like she hit him.  
“Yes.” He said, his voice low and cruel. “She had a heart attack on purpose so you couldn’t go on vacation.”  
Myra burst into tears instantly.  
\-------------------------------------------  
JFK was an absolute mad house of furious activities. Stranded passengers clogged incoming flight decks with bodies and each of the hundreds of them seem to be complaining about something and loudly.  
Richie sat, sipping an overpriced black coffee and cast a vicious glance to the pitcher sitting on the service counter that had been woefully empty of the cream that could have made the burnt coffee at least bearable. A family with at least eight children sat at the tables agasiant to him, two of the eight were crying and one was staring with intense, blank doe eyes at him.  
“Me too kid, the hell.” He said under his breath. He checked his phone. Only a pitiful six minutes had passed since the seeming years it had been since he last checked. Jen’s instructions this morning had said that his rental would be ready to pick up at eight thirty sharp and also added, probably just to brag, that she had managed to snag one of the last rental cars available. Richie let out a sharp breath. There would be a hell of a lot more complaints after every stranded passengers figured out that the only way out of Queens was to grow wings and fly. Assuming the storm didn’t take their icarus asses out. He checked his phone again. Seven fifty. He sighed, cast a glance to the now dog eared and kind of rough looking copy of ‘It’ he reluctantly brought down from his room and stood up. Might as well find the rental place and get in what would no doubt be a hell of a line. He grabbed his book and his little wheeled suitcase and started towards the huge rounded map in the center of the food court.  
The line was nowhere near what he thought. In Fact there was only one man at the desk. The clerk behind the counter looked absolutely stricken if Richie was managing to read her face correctly and then a voice he actually had never heard but could place instantly froze him to the spot.  
“WHAT-” THe man started to yell and then with apparent great effort tried to reign in his explosive anger. “What- do you mean there are no rentals available, I have to get to Maine! Do you have any idea how important-”  
Eddie Kaspbrak, the very much adult version of his childhood best friend in all his compacted rage stood before the counter. Even with his back turned Richie would be able to place that voice, that irritation, anywhere.  
“Calm down Eds. You aren't the only person just panting to get out of New York.” The words left his mouth before his brain had any time to consider them, par the course for talking to Eddie Kaspbrak. Some things never change.  
Eddie froze solid and then turned so slowly that Richie had time to feel his pulse speed up in his veins. The man before him was very much Eddie from his youth, but sharper, deeper and somehow more intense. His eyes locked with Richie and for a single split second a huge, blinding smile lit his entire face, replacing the rage and irritation with such glowing pleasure that something in Richie’s chest twisted painfully. The moment was fleeting and the rage flashed over the smile instantly.  
“Are you fucking kidding me? Of all the people to run into while I am stranded in fucking Queens. Richie fucking tozier.” He said flashed a smile, so dismally ordinary compared to the first one that it made Richie frown in return.  
“Also Don’t call me Eds.” Eddie stepped away from the desk and held out his hand, arms open, smile almost real. Richie’s brain didn’t get to consider his next move either. He grabbed Eddie’s wrist and pulled him into a brief and rather tense hug. Eddie patted his back hard and let out a little laugh.  
“Fuck. Richie fucking Tozier. What's it been?”  
“Twenty years, give or take.” Richie said with a laugh. Eddie echoed his laugh.  
“Are you trying to make it to Derry?” Richie aksed. Eddied nodded, his scowl back in place.  
“Trying being the operative word. It seems I'm stuck here until this storm is fucking over.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair and Richie told himself harshly not to notice how shiny his hair was.  
“Well. I mean.” Was he really about to do this? “ I should have a vehicle waiting for me.” He looked at the girl behind the desk who jumped to her computer.  
“Richard Tozier? Yes! We got your confirmation last night. Also I’m a big fan of your-”  
“See! I have a car. And insanely i am also going to Derry but I haven't for the life of me figured out why.”  
“Good lord Trashmouth are you actually being helpful?” That full force smile was back in place and words, fucking words left Richie’s brain entirely. Richie had a crystalline realization at that moment that was both warm and incredibly painful. So much for childhood crushes. So much for time healing all wounds.  
“Yeah.” He said finally. “Helpful. If that's what you call nine hours in a car with me.”  
Eddie groaned dramatically but his smile hindered the effect.  
“Nine hours, fuck 48 hours, I don’t care I just need to get home.” He said and his smile dropped. Richie felt instantly like he might just do anything possible to get that smile back to full effect, to make it real and blinding again.  
“My mom-”  
“Oh I know all about your mom.” Richie said raising his eyebrows.  
“Is in the hospital.”  
“Oh. Oh fuck. Is she ok.”  
“No. Not really. Let's just get the car.”  
“This car ride is going to be really long without your mom jokes.”  
“Uhgh.” Eddie turned to the girl at the desk. “Are you sure there are no other vehicles. Fuck, I’ll rent a helicoptor.” 

\-----------------------------------------------------  
“Did you pick this monstrosity?” Eddie asked as they walked towards the only vehicle in the parking lot. Snow was blowing around them and Eddie pulled his scarf tighter around his neck.  
“Yes,” Richie said, arms spread wide and open jacket flapping in the wind. “Look at all the variety I had and I still chose this, the most inconvenient, gas guzzling, planet killing-”  
“Beep Beep Richie.” Eddie said before his brain could even register the words. Richie, Richie fucking Tozier looked at him with such a soft smile that Eddie felt his mouth return the gesture.  
“Beep Beep” Richie said, his voice as distant as his eyes, thoughts of a childhood.  
“Whatever- I’m driving.” Eddie said, staching the keys from Richie’s hands.  
“But I signed a paper saying I wouldn’t let anyone else-”  
“Jesus Rich, you really gonna let a little piece of paper stop you? I’m a risk analysis and you driving is a risk.”  
“You don’t know.” Richie responded.  
“I do, I remember driving around in your dad’s honda while you smoked with one hand, shifted with another and still managed to poke at me with what must have been a third hand I swear.” Richie laughed and Eddie felt himself echo the sentiment.  
“You might be right, I don’t get much practice. I don’t even own a car.” He admitted. Eddie laughed.  
“That doesn’t surprise me Hollywood.”  
They threw their suitcases into the trunk hatch of the monstrosity and then climbed into the front, which between the blistering wind and height of the vehicle proved somewhat difficult for Eddie.  
“Don’t fucking say a word.” He threatened. Richie made a mouth zipping movement over his lips but couldn’t stop a grin.  
“Don’t you have a car? Don’t you live here? Where is your car?” Richie asked as Eddie began to pull the SUV out of the parking lot.  
“Yeah- Uh.” He felt embarrassment rise to his face, hot and unexpected.  
“My fiance totaled it like two weeks ago.” He said. Why the fuck was that embarresing?  
“Wait, you're engaged? What to like a woman?”  
“Why the fuck is that so funny asshole?” Eddie spat back as Richie laughed harder than necessary.  
“What she like?” He asked, he sounded genuine, it caught Eddie off guard and he blushed again. Why the fuck was he so blushy?  
“Her name is Myra.” He said, but found that he would rather talk about anything else than his fiance. Anything else.  
“Wow, she sounds cool” Richie said. Eddie tightened his hands on the steering wheel and was silent for a long while.  
“She…” He found himself for a loss of words. She was just like his mother. She was sticky sweet when she wanted and cruel when she wasn’t. But he loved her. He loved his mother. Wait, he loved Myra.  
“I love her.” He said and waited for the shitty joke but Richie was silent this time. He nodded once and then turned his attention out the window. The exit for I 95 north came up and he took it. The snow outside was getting worse.  
“I get to be DJ.” Richie said suddenly and pulled his phone from his faded jeans. Suddenly the heaviness was gone and the world slotted back into its place.  
“Good lord. Please don’t make me listen to Sting and the Police.” Eddie complained.  
“Nope. Nothing but the Smiths until we get to New Haven.” He said happily and sure enough ‘How soon is now’ started to play through the vehicle's speakers.  
‘I am the son and heir Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar.’  
“Still listening to this Tozier?” Eddie asked, but he wasn’t complaining. Driving around that little town for hours while Richie chained smoked and listened to the same cassette over and over until the thing warped under the strain. It was a surprisingly happy memory. There is a light that never goes out still, twenty years later still brought him back to that passenger seat.  
“The Smiths are one of the best bands that ever existed.” Richie said simply.  
‘I am the son and heir of nothing in particular.’  
Eddie couldn’t even argue. There was a podcast about the civil war he was dying to listen too but he knew that Richie would put up a fight, although something small and nagging in the back of his mind was quite sure that Richie would eventually let him win. Richie always let him win.  
\--------------------------


End file.
